


You, All My Hopes and Fears

by Hemogobbler



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Because the present sucks, Chapter 4 is an infected she-ra murderfest, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Force Captain Orientation, KID ADORA IS CUTE AF, SEXUAL FRUSTRATION LIKE DAMN, Sharing a Bath, Smut, Visions, dancing on the edge of the universe, past and future, watch out for that one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-10-07 09:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17363507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hemogobbler/pseuds/Hemogobbler
Summary: A collection of Catra and Adora's dreams and nightmares. Joy-filled, horrific, or downright bizarre, but always together - at least in sleep.Warnings for chapters:2 - Smut4 - Major character deaths/blood





	1. Catra - Nightmare - The Future of Our War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra encounters the nightmare that is complete Horde supremacy.

Catra found it difficult to fall asleep, as was increasingly the norm in recent days.

 

All day she had been required to operate a Horde tank, following a designated route with other drivers through their territory in a pompous show of strength. Catra liked an easy job as much as the next person, but she could still feel her bones shaking, the incessant rumble of the treads and machinery reverberating in her head. Reconnaissance was her usual specialty; she didn’t realize how much she missed the quiet of a stakeout or the meditative qualities that came with staging a good ambush.

 

She was cold and tired, but sleep was as far away as Adora. Thoughts of her warmth, her smell, would help Catra fall asleep most nights, but not tonight. She had all but exhausted her supply of fuzzy memories, leaving only bitterness, which was always plentiful in these moments of frustrated sadness.

 

She wanted to cry, but the last time she had done that Scorpia had, somehow, heard from the top bunk. The princess wouldn’t leave her alone, scooping her up and encouraging her to express her deepest feelings, touching the feline’s ears softly, and whispering sweet soothing sounds in the dead of night. It had almost worked, but Catra, along with her blanket, made a dash for the roof of the dormitories and camped out under the shitty Fright Zone sky that night instead.

 

She wasn’t ready to be vulnerable, as much as she did trust Scorpia. Scorpia was a better princess than Adora was, Catra thought. Scorpia held onto her friends, literally and figuratively, a lot better than Adora did. Adora would always flaunt her power, despite actually being a huge nerd. She had no idea when to hold and when to fold. How could she take herself seriously? Catra did have to admit that her spirit was infectious, though: Adora had a lot more real confidence, and it made being around her feel reassuring. As if she was on the right path and could take on anything. Adora didn't have her own custom tank, though, so...

 

When she, at last, fell asleep, her final conscious thoughts were of how she and Adora would meet again, and, if Scorpia were to have a say in the matter, reconcile.

 

* * *

 

 

Scorpia was not in her dream - no-one seemed to be. Catra watched through the slit of a tank window as it rolled through miles of barren desert. The enclosed space she was in numbed most of her senses, giving her nothing of interest to look at but the dials surrounding the steering mechanism.

 

Her ass hurt though, as if she had been sat in this box for years. She shuffled to get a better position but little could be done to make the metal more comfortable. Giving up, she opened the hatch above and surveyed her surroundings, eager for a fresh breath of air.

 

Dust hit her eyes, and the horizon of nothingness before her hurt to look at. An endless stretch of sand melted into the sky, a depressing grey which retained very faint embers of ash, hovering serenely above the wasteland. Enormous craters, easily the size of entire towns, sat on either side of the road Catra was traveling. The holes were growing, slowly but surely, in an effort to swallow up the world. Etheria's magical lifeblood was being siphoned through metal tubes out of the pits, and deep excavations tore apart the ground in an effort to reclaim masses of First Ones' tech.

 

The Horde had won, and the result was this.

 

Catra noticed her tank was much bigger than what she was used to. She was high above the ground, and the armored plates below extended into sharp merciless shapes that were intended to intimidate the enemy, and maybe even skewer them if they were too slow to avoid the beast. The fact that she had no back up suggested one of these new behemoths was more than enough to conquer a town, or whatever she was doing out here, alone.

 

On her Horde uniform, which was now an opulent military jacket suited to that of a general, were various medals. They shone as Catra inspected them, twisting them in her hands and admiring the various colors and trying to recall the feats she must have accomplished to acquire them.

 

“For Etheria!” Someone shouted. Catra saw a group of people charging directly into the tank’s maw, wielding nothing but farm tools that had been shoddily repurposed into weapons. Catra couldn’t make out any of their faces from this height, but before she could step back into the cockpit the tank whirled to life.

 

There was a deafening rumble as a surge in First Ones' tech powered up the weapons. A thunderous crash of force struck the earth beneath the tank and ripped a crack in the ground that immediately swallowed up the would-be rebels. The attack wasn’t even the main gun, Catra noticed, but a secondary defensive measure that claimed the lives of a half dozen people. All without touching a button; entirely automated.

 

Catra heard herself chuckle: the rebels were in such disarray that they would willingly feed themselves to this machine. She spotted a town in the distance, the faint outline of tiny homes and regal towers calling her closer. She closed the hatch and rolled ever-forward, the sterile air of the cockpit preferable to the smell of dust and death outside.

 

As she reached the outskirts of the town she noticed citizens fleeing, or shutting up their windows in the hopes of being spared. It was plain to see the people of this town had already lost their war. They looked hungry and weak, hopeless and fearful. With no one attacking the tank, its weapons lay dormant.

 

The tank was on a steady collision course with a religious building of some kind. It was some of the grandest architecture Catra had seen, though that wasn't saying much. As the sharp, alien design of the building came further into view, it's coloring stood out amidst the absence of life in the town. Catra remembered purple and blues, and so realized what the crystal-like structure was: a First Ones' temple.

 

The tank halted just before hitting the great door to the citadel. It whirled up again, but instead of hammering the ground, a holographic screen appeared in front of Catra’s face. She didn’t speak the language of these alien runes but knew the tank was interfacing with the structure by the result: the fortified door ahead began to slowly lower.

 

Screaming and panic resounded from in the building as most of the inhabitants fled from the opening. When most were clear, Catra saw a handful of people gathered around a table, in some kind of scarcely-furnished hall.

 

Squinting, Catra saw that they were children. They wore basic cloaks, but some of them had nothing but rags. They were frozen in place; the day that they had always feared had met them much quicker than they expected.

 

One figure, slightly taller than the rest and hooded, took a step forward. She rose a sword above her head.

 

“For the honor of Grayskull!”

 

Catra recognized the voice but had come to expect a light show after the magic words were uttered. Nothing happened. The hood fell from the hero of Etheria’s face.

 

Adora was old, lines cutting deeply into her skin all around her face. She seemed shorter, hunched and struggling to keep hold of the sword. Her hair was still tied in a ponytail but was now gray and disheveled, and her eyes no longer had the vitality that made her such a force to be reckoned with. Housing the orphans of a war that she had lost - how very Adora, Catra thought.

 

“For the honor of Grayskull!” She repeated, her voice desperate and scared. Tears formed in her eyes as she attempted to wield her weapon once more. Catra noticed that it was not the Sword of Protection, but an ordinary blade.

 

Catra shook at the sight, and so did the tank, recognizing Etheria’s last, best hope. The main gun began charging, and Catra smashed at the controls in an effort to prevent it from firing. It didn’t work, and so she hopped up to the hatch and got out. The rising electrical noise reached a crescendo, penetrating her ears and slowing her movement.

 

The two met eyes and Catra read her name being spoken, breathless, on Adora’s lips.

 

The world was consumed by a brilliant white as Catra woke up screaming. Scorpia tried to tend to her, but Catra shook her off and threw herself, full-force, into her activities for the day, fiercely trying to forget.


	2. Adora - Dream - Sharing the Baths of Mystacor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora shares a purifying bath with Catra, and Mystacor's steam output reaches an all-time high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut inbound! Skip if it's not your thing!! Characters are aged up and madly in love!!!

Adora wasn’t used to having so much time. The rebellion didn’t demand drills at the crack of dawn or limit how long you could spend on breakfast when you woke up in the morning. At least, not for She-Ra. It was nice, but also disorienting. She found herself missing the structure of everything as she ran a late-night bath for herself. Those thoughts faded as she sat down in the tub, a pleasant heat carrying away the burden of nostalgia and the many regrets that came with it.

 

There were far too many soaps to choose from. Safe to say, ‘Twilight Dream,’ ‘Winter Hideaway’ and ‘Lovestruck Sunrise’ probably all smelt better than the Horde classic ‘Cadet Demulsifier Six-one-eight.’ Adora made a cocktail out of a little of each and was overwhelmed by the fruity, sweet fragrances that sprung out of the bubbles.

 

It was hard to think, and harder to stay awake as the water held her so gently. It reminded her of Glimmer, snuggling up to her, so soft and warm, in the purifying baths of Mystacor. Adora drifted off with ease, and came to in her dream, with only the slightest degree of lucidity, in the very place she had just imagined.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The natural rock formations seemed as vivid as back then, only now she was significantly less stressed out about the possibility of Shadow Weaver ambushing her and her friends. Water trickled calmly into the pools, and a hot mist blanketed the entire area, leaving Adora with a view of just the one bath in front of her, as well as a familiar feline who was hesitantly sticking a toe-bean into the water.

 

“Catra?”

 

Catra’s ear wiggled, and she turned her head, leg now half-way into the pool.

 

She wore the spa’s familiar white wrappings around her top and bottom, little tufts of brown fur poking out over the edges. She was smiling, something Adora hadn’t had the luxury of seeing in a painfully long time. Even better, the charming curl of her lips was directed at her. It caused her brain to accept this new reality in an instant. The promise of seeing her best friend again - happy, healthy, and half-naked - plastered a big, dumb grin on Adora’s face.

 

Catra’s tail beckoned Adora over to the bath, where, holding hands, they wordlessly helped lower each other in. Adora’s face crumpled as the water enveloped her legs.

 

“Hotter than I remember,” She said, quickly submerging herself up to the neck in order to acclimatize to the temperature.

 

“Tell me about it,” Catra said, who seemed unaffected by the initial bite of heat. She was openly eyeing up Adora’s body through the crystal water and ran a hand over one of her legs as she moved in close to her side.

 

Catra pressed her weight against Adora, who wrapped an arm around her back in response. Catra ran her claws through wet, blonde hair, before coming to rest on her cheek. Adora put her free hand on the hips that were touching hers as one of Catra’s legs threaded between Adora’s.

 

Adora made no further moves: the water and the body next to her were still boiling, and she wanted to take it slow. She was content to look into Catra’s gorgeous eyes as the feline wiped away droplets of sweat with a thumb. They held each other like they had all the time in the world. It was a tight embrace, filled with the desire to prove that they would never lose their patience, faith, and love for one another.

 

“I thought you couldn’t stand water.”

 

“Yeah, but I like you _just_ enough to deal with it,” Catra rubbed her nose against Adora’s, who laughed as the damp fur tickled her skin.

 

“I missed you.”

 

“I missed you too, princess. More than you know.”

 

Adora kissed her, soft and tentative, and felt Catra’s lips turn into a smile. Now she was the one laughing.  

 

“Finally.”

 

Catra leaned in with a firmer, sensual kiss, her tongue trailing Adora’s lips. She parted them and shivered as Catra’s tongue met hers. Catra pulled Adora’s head closer, out of desire, and to keep her head above the water as she melted into it.

 

Adora failed to suppress a moan, which she knew Catra would remember. Not that it mattered: nothing was more important than showing Catra how she felt. She moaned harder as she re-positioned herself, raising up a little to take the lead. She broke the kiss, nearly out of breath, and pulled Catra’s chest towards her.

 

Catra raised her head knowingly and felt a flurry of tender kisses rising up her neck. She began purring, and Adora held her lips to Catra’s throat so she could feel the rumble. Catra, impatient, grabbed Adora’s bottom and encouraged her to go on with a squeeze. With a yelp and a little splash, Adora continued ever-upwards, kissing her chin, lips, and freckles, until she was looking into Catra’s eyes once more.

 

They were tranquil, and free of doubt, as if they had found a permanent home reflected in Adora's light blue eyes. It was a sturdy home if the size of her arms were any indication. Catra traced her fingers under them. As she reached the end of her triceps, bubbles rose in the space between the two of them.

 

“Catra, did you just…?”

 

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

 

“Well, it wasn’t me!”

 

“What?! Sorry for finding this so relaxing. Jeez, I thought they were joking when they said princesses weren’t allowed to do that,” Catra smirked. “Almost glad I didn’t join the rebellion.”

 

Adora’s face turned low, and her heart fell. The question of time and reality began knocking at her subconscious mind, threatening her with the prospect of waking.

 

“You didn’t? Your… not...?”

 

Catra rapidly pressed a finger to her lips. Her face looked desperate.

 

“Adora. Please shut the fuck up. And stop thinking so much, you’re bad at it.”

 

Adora nodded, wordless, thoughtless, but with a smile slowly re-forming around Catra’s finger.

 

Catra pushed it into her mouth a centimeter, experimentally, and was as surprised as Adora who nursed it gently and let it leave her mouth with a peck. The water suddenly seemed cooler in comparison to their bodies. Adora giggled, and was thankful for the mist that was, she hoped, masking her bright red face.

 

Catra took her finger back but held an arm around Adora’s neck as she shifted position. She placed herself behind Adora, who maneuvered to sit between the feline’s legs.

 

Catra nestled her nose into the back of Adora’s neck, smelling her fragrant hair and peppering her radiant skin with kisses. It kept Adora in the moment, as did the hand roaming over her front, pushing claws into her body ever-so-lightly.

 

Adora gasped as she felt fangs around her ear. The flicker of a tongue made her lean back further, and her breathing became faster as Catra cupped her breast. She turned Adora’s head to face her with her free hand, and brushed her lips against hers teasingly, gleeful as Adora tried in vain to connect. Eventually, Catra allowed her to. Adora’s kisses were hungry and forceful.

 

A single claw tore its way down the wrappings covering Adora’s chest, and let them fall into the water below. Adora’s skin remained untouched by the sharp nail, which began to retract as the rest of the hand surrounded her bosom. Catra kneaded her thoroughly, and Adora raised her hand for the feline to clasp, arching her back in pleasure.

 

Catra alternated between kissing her lips and cheeks, licking her neck and squeezing Adora’s hand as she played with her more vigorously. Adora loved every second; overwhelmed by the safety she felt in Catra’s intimate hands and delighted to feel her responsibilities - her power - vanish.

 

Catra gradually brought Adora’s other hand down to the bottom of her stomach, where desirous anticipation was forming. One of Catra’s legs had emerged between Adora’s, rising from the water like a mythical lake monster, but it was hard to focus on much else besides the sheer bliss of Catra’s touch: each pinch, lick, and bite drove Adora to grind, unintentionally, against it. She was pinned and craving more.

 

Catra uncoupled the hand that was holding Adora’s and placed it at the tip of her lover’s crotch. Adora felt the nails of two fingers retract, achingly slow, across her flesh. Adora craned her neck to look at Catra.

 

Catra held a question in her curious eyes. It felt familiar, natural; so right and so long overdue. Adora answered Catra’s gaze with the last coordinated kiss she would manage. She savored the taste of Catra’s mouth, taking each lip between hers and caressing her tongue.

 

The fingers made their way downwards - eager, but cautious all the same.

 

Catra rubbed little circles around Adora’s clit, which caused a hitch in her breath and a rising current to stir within her, but they both wanted something deeper. With a soothing purr in her ear, telling her she was going to _really_ enjoy this, Adora spread herself as Catra went inside her.

 

 

* * *

  


“Adora!”

 

A familiar voice woke her, and Adora shot up.

 

“Coming!” Tore through her lips as her mind put the scenery together.

 

Bright Moon. Noon?! Her room. Glimmer’s voice outside the door. Catra. No, no Catra.

 

Adora was hot, groggy, and frustrated. Fortunately, Glimmer had not simply teleported on top of her today. Whether it was the fiery heat she was giving off, or the messy hair that suggested plenty of moving around in her sleep, something would have given her away.

 

For the rest of the day, her friends marveled at the unnatural strength - even for Adora - that was being unleashed on the poor training dummies. If they didn’t know her so well, they’d think she was overcompensating for something.


	3. Catra - Dream - Babysitting Lil' Adora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra encounters a young Adora, who doesn't recognize her. They face off against their shared nightmare, bond over memories, and Catra gives her best friend in the entire world some advice for the future.

Catra was actually tired tonight. Not overtired, where her brain would keep her awake with countless intrusive thoughts that held no meaning. Just simply, physically, happily - exhausted.

 

She had been given a workout watching over a fresh batch of cadets that had reached the age where they were deemed ‘combat-ready.’ They seemed more interested in playing hide-and-seek than sparring with each other, but they were drawn to Catra’s energy. She was not like other Force Captains: her lessons were fun.

 

Catra took on the role of a smarmy princess and mocked the children for being so much shorter than her. She even wore Scorpia’s prom dress, so committed to the character she had made. She encouraged them to try and land just one hit on her. She would dodge effortlessly, and after each evade made a grand display of stroking her luxuriously long hair - that is to say, the mop she had put on her head.

 

One girl eventually connected her baton with Catra’s shin mid-roll. It hurt like hell. The girl looked scared since Catra wasn’t good at hiding the anger on her face. But, she congratulated the hero-in-the-making, albeit through gritted teeth. The girl squealed with joy as Catra pinned her Force Captain badge to her shirt.

 

She didn’t like preparing them for war. It felt wrong to use their innocent enthusiasm and shape it towards fighting others. Then again, she liked them more than most of her peers, who she fought with all the time. So, if anything, it was natural, especially for would-be soldiers. Catra didn’t want them to stop being children, though, not yet. She fell asleep looking forward to winning back her badge in the next lesson.

 

 

* * *

  


The setting was known to her at once. In so many of Catra’s dreams, she inhabited some vague, ever-shifting space that followed no rules. But this was her home, she supposed. She stood in the courtyard of the Horde base.

 

It was devoid of life and dark all around her. There were spotlights lazily moving through the blackness, highlighting unpowered tanks and training dummies. She didn’t understand why they did this, and why they were watching inside the walls instead of out. No-one seemed to be operating them.

 

One suddenly shrouded her in the light. Catra shielded her eyes with an arm. It hesitated, and passed by, returning her to the dark.

 

Catra went to the barracks, in search of something to do or to find some kind of purpose, but the structure was a shadowy outline with no substance. She tried to touch the walls, but they slipped through her fingers and a cold mist reformed around her hand.

 

She heard a muffled noise and leaned her head around the building to investigate. There was no-one there. Holding an ear to the wall, she heard the noise turn into crying. Hesitantly, she put an arm in, before stepping completely through the wall.

 

“GHOST!” A high pitched scream rang out, and Catra closed her eyes and clamped her ears shut at the violent noise. Just as quickly, they shot open when she realized who the voice belonged to.

 

A shoe caught Catra square in the head the moment she regained her sight, and she narrowly avoided its partner, ducking low and squinting at the blonde girl who was apparently so good at throwing.

 

“Oh,” A toddler Adora said, hiding behind her bed frame. “You’re not a ghost.”

 

She poked her head out, and Catra felt her chest hurt as all the memories came flooding back. The gap between her teeth, her little ponytail that always came loose, and her big, beautiful, blue eyes. They looked sad and were wet with tears; Catra was immediately filled with the determination to fix that.

 

“No,” She said, slowly. She was confused but grounded all the same by familiar surroundings. The showers were just down the hall and their bed was tidy. On it was the drawing of the two of them, unscratched. 

 

“I’m not. I’m…”

 

“A Force Captain!!” Adora was by her side in an instant, soaking in the sight of Catra’s badge with starry eyes. “Woah! Cool!”

 

“Damn - Darn right, it’s cool!” Catra stuck it to Adora’s shirt without hesitation. “And as a Force Captain, it’s my job to find whatever’s making you sad and kick its ass. Butt.”

 

Adora clutched her arms to her sides, the fear returning.

 

“She... took Catra,” Adora sniffled. “I’m next.”

 

Catra didn’t need to ask who she meant. She didn’t have time to, either. A spotlight demolished their fragile home, exposing them to the total void all around. The light was cold on Catra’s fur. It honed in on Adora and then disappeared completely.

 

Catra’s unique eyes could still see the girl in the blackness. She was terrified, looking around for her brave Force Captain. It reminded Catra too much of herself. She pounced towards the girl and scooped her up in her arms, something familiar inside telling her to run.

 

_“GET YOUR FILTHY PAWS OFF OF MY ADORA.”_

 

The voice of Shadow Weaver made the ground fall away. It resonated through the black domain, which must have belonged to her. Pretty obvious now that Catra thought about it.

 

Catra scrambled over the sinking ground, running towards nothing and away from everything. Adora was hefted over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of something chasing them and buried her face in Catra’s back.

 

Catra could feel it close in on her. She was panting with exhaustion, droplets of sweat freezing instantaneously. Why was she running so slowly?

 

Over her shoulder, just on the edge of her periphery, she saw two red eyes. They were drilling their hatred into her body. Her spine turned to liquid, and she tumbled to the ground, pinning Adora underneath her.

 

“Get up!” Adora pleaded, pushing the feline’s body off of her while Catra struggled to regain her strength. Her muscles were so tired. She rolled over onto her back to finally confront the spirit pursuing them.

 

Shadow Weaver looked like shit. Her hair was frayed and those awful red eyes - indicative of her connection to the Black Garnet - flickered weakly. They dimmed to white, and she staggered closer. Her cloak billowed and transformed into shadowy tendrils that orbited her like hungry snakes.

 

_“She is mine, weakling. You will never have her.”_

 

Shadow Weaver’s voice was normally so loud in Catra’s mind. Every word still dripped with spite, but it was no longer a relentless onslaught of contempt: the witch was struggling for breath.

 

Seeing her like this was disturbing, but, as her Force Captain badge collided with Shadow Weaver’s head (Adora was such a good shot) she remembered something:

 

“I beat you,” Catra jumped to her feet.

 

Adora hid behind Catra, sticking her tongue out at their teacher and greatest enemy. Catra’s eyes were sharp and infinitely smug.

 

“And now I get to do it again?”

 

The mask slipped from Shadow Weaver. Her skin was grey and withered, her eyes bulbous and dilated. She didn’t bother to hide it. Her gaze was transfixed on Catra, who shielded her and Adora’s eyes.

 

“WOW! I forgot how gross you were,” Catra made retching noises, and Adora snickered. “Please put that back on, I’ll give you a minute.”

 

Shadow Weaver just stared at her, unmoving. A drop of blood fell from her nose, and her body began to fade away, one particle at a time. She cocked her head and her lips cracked into a perverse smile.

 

_“You will never have her.”_

 

“Yeah, well, neither will you. That’s enough for me.”

 

Shadow Weaver disappeared, for what Catra hoped would be the last time in her life. Somehow, she knew that wouldn’t be the case. She felt a small but remarkably strong pair of arms wrap around her legs, banishing the cold that threatened to paralyze her moments ago.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Catra put her hand on Adora’s head. She then knelt down to fix her hair: tucking each stray hair back into Adora’s ponytail with the utmost care and gentleness. The girl returned a small smile that melted Catra’s heart.

 

“We still have to save Catra!”

 

Catra wanted to hold the girl’s cheek but knew it was a sore spot for her. She sat down with her instead, legs crossed, holding hands like they were performing an incantation.

 

“Catra will be okay. I promise. She’s got you to look out for her! _Nice_ throw, by the way, you really nailed that bi - ” Catra stammered, and cycled through the vowels. “B - ba - bossy… itch…!”

 

Adora scrunched up her face in confusion, but Catra could see the praise go to her head. She could’ve sworn it was getting bigger.

 

“Well! Someone had to do something!” Adora tilted her nose upwards, full of pride and fake arrogance.

 

“My hero,” Catra said quietly.

 

Colour started to return to the Horde base. Depressing though the Fright Zone was, grey and light grey were always preferable to total blackness. The killing machines and weapons, ironically, added some life to the place.

 

The sky, smoggy and dark, still shone with the promise of a future. It was a shithole, but it was their shithole. Plenty of good memories rested here, and Catra would always keep them with her.

 

Adora tugged at Catra’s hands. She didn’t realize how tightly she was holding on to the girl.

 

“I’m not waiting anymore. I’m gonna find her.”

 

Catra released her grip, and lil' Adora stood up tall.

 

“Uh, kid. Lemme ask you something,” Catra rubbed the back of her neck. “What’s the skinny with you and Catra? I mean, I can already tell, you totally _like_ like her, am I right?”

 

“No!” Adora said, with a little too much emphasis.

 

“Yeah, you do!” Catra taunted. “You wanna hold hands and smush faces!!”

 

Adora was bright red, “If anything Catra _like_ likes me! She said she wants to marry me when we grow up! But that’s not happening!”

 

Now Catra was blushing, “Why not?”

 

Adora faltered and held her hands behind her back. “Well…” She leaned in closer to Catra’s ear.

 

“Because _I’m_ gonna marry _her!_ ” She blurted out, not at all in hushed tones, and was looking at the Force Captain expectantly. There was a lump in Catra’s throat. “But don’t tell her! It’s gonna be a surprise wedding!”

 

“She’d like that, I bet,” Catra said, though she wasn’t sure what a surprise wedding consisted of. “Your secret’s safe, as long as I get an invite.”

 

Adora nodded furiously, “I appoint you to head of security!” Catra got up off the ground and bowed graciously. “But I really gotta go! Can’t have a wedding if… well…” 

 

Adora looked uncomfortable, like she was seeing bad things that would never quite go away.

 

“Go get her, kid.”

 

Catra couldn’t resist ruffling Adora’s hair, ruining all of her previous work in an attempt to reach out to the sweetheart once more. She captured the feeling and kept it with her forever.

 

“One last thing!” Catra shouted just as Adora had turned to run. The blonde girl looked impatient now, a face Catra knew too well, and that Adora never really grew out of.

 

“The next time I… uh, Catra leaves a mouse in your shoe? A - A dead one...” 

 

Adora nodded slowly, brows tilting. 

 

“Just… just say thanks? Maybe it took a long time to catch, y’know? She won’t do it again. Probably. And you don’t want to hurt her feelings, do you?”

 

Adora’s pretty blue eyes were watery, “Nooooo!”

 

“Good!” Catra said cheerfully. “Now go stick it to those old people, Adora! I'm counting on you!”


	4. Adora - Nightmare - Infected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora watches, helpless, as an infected She-Ra goes on a brutal rampage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major character deaths, blood and a generally horrible time for everyone ahead. It's only a dream but it's a REALLY shit one, so please don't read this one unless you want serious angst.

There was a theme to some of Adora's darkest days.

 

When the Rebellion had been pushed out of a foothold thought secure; when Catra had been mentioned by battle-scarred soldiers; or when try as she might, she failed to get her sword to transform into anything useful. In fights, when they scraped by on too many close-calls and narrow dodges, it stood out to her the most. 

 

It was the inability to save everyone, and the uncertainty over the future - both of which stemmed from her lack of control over She-Ra.

 

It reminded Adora of the times she had been consumed by Entrapta's virus. Adora would remember little about what happened during, save for flashes of fear on her friends and enemies faces alike.

 

On one such day, Adora fell into a restless, suffocating sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Adora told herself that she tried to save Glimmer and Bow.

 

With every bare-knuckle, breathless prayer for the fate of Etheria and all the lives therein, she had to be able to say that she tried.

 

For whatever remained of herself within the infected form of She-Ra, and to keep her from falling apart completely.

 

Otherwise, she was nothing but the monster Shadow Weaver had trained her to be, who would have been proud to find her bidding done so ruthlessly.

 

Over, and over, they had pleaded with Adora to take control. To save them from herself.

 

Adora begged her mind to release her from the images of their final moments, but they played back to her as if the corrupted warrior took pride in remembering how satisfying it was to kill, and how easy, now that she was off the leash. Adora wailed behind the eyes of the unearthed goddess she inhabited, one who knew not mercy nor righteousness, but only the unflinching desire to cleanse the galaxy of everyone that stood before her.

 

She-Ra brought the Sword of Protection down to crack the earth, and Adora tried to steer it in the hopes that the sword would live up to its namesake and protect her friends. With whatever free will remained - if she could separate them from the melee; send them cascading down a broken cliff and out of sight, they’d be safe, while Catra, with her speed, stood a much better chance of surviving She-Ra’s unadulterated rage.

 

The mountains shook and a shockwave of power blasted the snow away, but the cliff, against all odds, stood strong.

 

Glimmer and Bow lost their footing in the wake of the attack but remained helplessly in sight; She-Ra charged at them with glee stretching her face.

 

An arrow caught her, real and burning hot, lodging itself in her shoulder. It stung Adora and excited She-Ra with bloodlust. It was just like Bow to avoid her vitals. Adora wished he had aimed for her head. Glimmer burnt through the last of her magic whisking Bow away from retaliatory strikes.

 

They avoided She-Ra’s mighty overhead attack, though she was running towards them before they even reappeared. The princess was relentless, and upon them after a flurry of teleports left Bright Moon’s finest disoriented and frightened.

 

They screamed and cried, and fought till their last breath, like true soldiers of the rebellion, but She-Ra’s strength couldn’t be matched.

 

Bow had only seconds to grapple with her, and even fewer to invoke Adora’s name in vain. The sword fatally slashed Bow, and pierced Glimmer with horrible ease. Adora couldn’t close her eyes.

 

She-Ra swallowed Adora’s sobs - pitifully echoing in whatever mental space the host currently occupied - and found that she cut two more attachments away. No longer would Adora be able to trust herself and the power that had been forced on her.

 

Adora was certain that she was crying, but could see so clearly and moved with such purpose. Grief did nothing to slow She-Ra. She watched as the sword was pulled free from their bodies and violent horror consumed her.

 

She-Ra grinned savagely at the blood dripping from her weapon and pooling in the snow, before turning her eyes to Catra, who was watching everything with Scorpia from behind the cover of a snowy rock.

 

 _No,_ Adora said to She-Ra, her words trapped somewhere in the void between them. _Please._

 

Catra, who had hitherto taken such pleasure in imagining the horrors that She-Ra could inflict on her own people, looked shocked. Shocked, in disbelief, and, as She-Ra locked eyes with her, terrified. She had got to know Adora’s friends better than she would have liked during her time as a prisoner and now found their blood as much on her hands as it was all over the princess.

 

Catra had wanted this. She told herself this was the plan, but she felt hollow and sick.

 

Adora could see the regret on her, could almost feel it crumbling Catra’s insides to dust. She wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but the hulking form in charge promised no comfort for anyone.

 

Catra held the crystal, the key to infecting She-Ra and having her annihilate her friends. It seemed strangely bigger than before and glowed purple. It grew hot in her hand, which Catra noticed was shaking.

 

Scorpia nudged her nervously and brought her attention back to She-Ra, who was walking towards them slowly. Catra recognized within the indomitable stride that emanated so much malice and power something else.

 

Cockiness.

 

Catra immediately knew that Adora was still in there and that she would be present for the end they had always feared waited for them.

 

She-Ra noticed the realization in her enemy’s eyes and lunged before she could lose her advantage.

 

_Please!_

 

Catra, in spite of years of elite training and her own innate reflexes, froze up. She had all the time to beg herself to move; to find that she couldn’t speak; to hear Shadow Weaver’s voice remind her that she was a coward, and to hate herself for everything.

 

A jagged red claw suddenly flashed across feline’s vision. It hit hard and flung Catra and the crystal to the safety of a soft depression of snow. A plume of white powder went up and surrounded the frenzied image of Scorpia holding back She-Ra’s blade and shouting at Catra.

 

“THE CRYSTAL!”

 

It took a second too long to move and Catra flushed with shame and regret and extended her claws. She clenched her hand, costing another second as the crystal only splintered, and then, with an enraged scream, finally crushed it, embedding shards in her palm.

 

She watched for the result and saw nothing but more pain as Scorpia was run through by the unholy sword. A sickening crack resounded as some of her chitinous armor was broken off her claws. It went through her chest, and She-Ra lifted her off the ground with a bloodthirsty smile as she proved her strength.

 

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

 

Adora could feel Scorpia’s blood flow over her wrists, could tell her breathing was slower. She saw not fear, but anger, on her defeated foe’s face. There was such passionate, fierce hatred for her in Scorpia’s eyes that Adora wondered if she had underestimated her devotion to the Horde, and Catra - she had certainly done a better job protecting her friends that Adora.

 

She-Ra freed her weapon from the large body and turned to Catra, who frantically rubbed the tears from her eyes in case the monster decided to charge her.

 

Catra fell backward in her attempt to create distance, unable to take her gaze away from the cause of all the joy and anguish in her life. She crawled further away on her hands and feet until her back hit a rock face and she shook her head back and forth, unable to comprehend why breaking the crystal didn’t work.

 

Seeing Catra in disbelief, so timid and humbled, fractured Adora’s heart. She could only guess that she was too far gone - that maybe the crystal wasn’t the source of the infection anymore, but of Adora herself, and now nothing remained for her but eons of watching a perpetual rage destroy Etheria.

 

Adora kept begging She-Ra to stop as she towered over Catra, knowing that she would go unheard.

 

“Adora!” Catra cried. “Please don’t! Please, please stop! I know _you_ , I know you’re in there, please! You’re stronger than her, you’re better - I really fucked up - I know - I - please, I need you, Adora!”

 

She-Ra raised the sword over her head like she was about to transform into even greater evil. A moment went by as the death blow lingered and Adora screamed at Catra to move until she choked and heaved out non-existent air.

 

For an instant, Adora loathed her. Catra’s evasions were masterful, her skill in battle was probably superior to Adora’s raw strength, so why wasn’t she doing anything? Was this her final revenge for leaving her - forcing Adora to kill her with the stupid princess powers that cost them each other?

 

The sword began its descent and she knew it was fear and only fear that ruled over her best friend now. The only thing she could offer Catra was a quick end, and Adora went numb at the thought.

 

Her vision abruptly jerked upwards as She-Ra felt a fiery hole puncture through her stomach.

 

Adora felt everything, down to the shifting of her spine, as She-Ra looked down to find the red carapace of Scorpia’s tail stabbing through her body. She had skipped the gentle touch of a paralyzing blow and gone straight for lethality. Catra shouted “NO!” and covered her mouth just as quick.

 

She-Ra’s blood streamed hot and Adora almost rejoiced, until she realized She-Ra hadn’t reacted. Her body quickly twisted and She-Ra knocked Scorpia down with a blow from the sword’s hilt that hammered the side of her head. The tail carved out another piece of her as it withdrew and She-Ra fell to one knee.

 

Adora couldn’t believe she was still alive - couldn’t fathom what willpower She-Ra held when she wasn’t constrained by a host, morality or duty. The princess turned around and finished off Scorpia. Catra didn’t look, but Adora heard her gag at the sound of severed flesh.

 

She-Ra turned to regard her final victim, who finally found her legs and shuffled to her feet. Adora watched in awe as Catra broke into a sprint and gained more distance from her. She-Ra started pursuing, stumbling over torrents of her own blood and sucking in savage breaths of wintry air.

 

Adora caused real tears to fall down She-Ra’s face, elated as Catra made it outside melee range and started to fade into the miraculous snowstorms native to the Kingdom of Snows.

 

She-Ra stopped, glanced down at the arrow still buried in her shoulder, and her thinking evolved beyond that of pure murderous instinct. She developed foresight, a gift from her obsessive host, and transformed her sword into a beautiful golden bow that was intersected with crimson veins.

 

_NO!_

 

She-Ra grunted as she pulled the arrow out of her. It was well-made: the sharp arrowhead was perfectly intact. She nocked it to the bowstring and pulled it back far. She positioned one of her feet dead ahead, and one diagonally. Adora felt the strain in her arm and flailed with whatever existence she maintained in order to throw off her aim, but She-Ra was unaffected; taking measured breaths even as Catra’s form was swallowed up in white.

 

When the oxygen was almost gone from her lungs, She-Ra held her breath, and let loose an arrow.

 

It flew far and fast, but Adora was sure it was an impossible shot.

 

Without missing a beat, She-Ra transformed the bow back to her sword and followed the arrow’s trajectory.

 

Adora had nearly infinite time to fret and pray as She-Ra took weary, lumbering steps through the deep snow. When she came to the wall of the snowstorm, she could see little ahead of her. Each crunch underfoot made Adora more nervous; she studied the snow for signs of Catra and grew hopeful every second she found none.

 

The snowflakes were razors to She-Ra’s battered body. Her hand roamed over the hole in her stomach and she stumbled over from the agony coursing through her. Her head met the icy ground and she panted.

 

 _Stay down. Rest,_ Adora offered.

 

She-Ra made a fist and pushed herself back up with it, struggling under her own weight. She limped on, even slower. Adora realized she had never wanted someone to die until now.

 

There was cold misery on the wind as She-Ra drove on and eventually saw a trail of red snow. Adora lost all hope while She-Ra pushed herself forward faster, growing faint and dizzy.

 

It wasn’t long until they came upon Catra, with Bow’s arrow in the center of her back, crawling inch-by-inch away from the massacre.

 

She turned herself over haltingly as her ears picked up on the heavy footsteps approaching. She swore in pain and there was a delirious smile on her face as she met She-Ra’s bloodshot eyes.

 

“Hey, Adora,” She said weakly, barely audible over the howling wind. “Nice shot.”

 

Adora laughed, in spite of everything. The sheer cruelness of it all, that after missing her for so long, _this_ was how they reunited. She watched Catra breathe, loving her so much it hurt.

 

She-Ra pressed the sword to her body, her grip on the handle no longer so firm.

 

“You win, Adora. You got me. Kiss and make up?”

 

The sword broke her skin and traveled achingly slow. Catra pleaded as adrenaline shot through her and she tried to hold the blade back from going any further.

 

“Adora, wait -- wait, PLEASE, ADORA, WAIT, NO - ADORA!”

 

The sword came to a stop inside Catra. She-Ra twisted the blade for good measure, considering Catra to be the most tenacious foe she had ever encountered in her immeasurably long career.

 

Catra coughed up blood with a stupified grin as she hyperventilated. She jolted as her breaths came out choked, rapid, incomplete.

 

“ _Youdidit_ , _you fucking_ \- you actually - you - _fuck_ \- you were always - you… so,  Adora -- I’m so... so - “

 

The light in her eyes dimmed as her hand reached out to She-Ra’s face and fell before it could make contact. Catra went still, and She-Ra’s mouth opened without purpose.

 

Adora screamed, and She-Ra’s head spiked with unknowable pain. She held it between her hands, her form flickered and shrank, and Adora found herself residing within her own body again, perched over her beloved.

 

She looked down to find the hole in her stomach remained. Blood poured, and Adora collapsed onto Catra, so eternally grateful that she wouldn’t have to live with what she had done, and taking refuge in the thought that she would soon see her again.

 

 

* * *

 

Adora woke up in a sweat, her heart pounding like someone had ripped it out and put it back in. She was lost, for a moment, until the glint of her vicious sword resting against her bed frame told her this was Bright Moon; this was reality; she and everyone else was safe. It made her laugh madly as tears of suffering and relief streaked down her face.

 

She tried to put herself back together, but couldn’t. She was going to break down here in the dark, alone, because of one bad dream. She punched the bed and sobbed.

 

Adora was struck with the desire to send a prayer for Catra to any divine authority that might hear it, knowing that Catra would be alone at this moment too and that nothing good could come from isolation in the Fright Zone.

 

She laughed again at the thought that it was her - she was the closest thing Etheria had to a goddess, and she had such a terrifying capacity for wrath. She took deep, steady, calming breaths and visualized the air going in and out of her lungs, but the faces of her friends in their own dying breaths haunted her still.

 

Instead, she would go to find them, hug them, and stay with them for the rest of the night. They were warm and kind when everything else was not. They would soon help her forget her imagined betrayal, though there would be no such closure where Catra was concerned. Adora threw her sword against the wall, hoping it might shatter, before heading to Glimmer's room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry


	5. Catra - Dream - Force Captain Orientation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra attends Force Captain Orientation, confronting unique lessons and long-buried truths.

Earlier today, a promising young cadet who had been turning heads with her incredible combat abilities asked Catra where she could find the room in which Force Captain orientation took place.

 

Catra, who raised a finger, found she couldn’t give her an answer and dropped it. She offered excuses: “you’ll be better off without it” and “I’m busy” which the cadet cocked her head at, seeing as all Catra occupied herself with for hours at a time was getting the funk out from under her nails.

 

The absence of such knowledge stuck with Catra for the rest of the day; it was as if there was a gap in her timeline which had irrevocably changed things for the worse. It bothered her until twilight took hold of the Fright Zone sky, submerging it in a wistful blend of purple and orange. She watched the day pass, all but wasted, until she asked Scorpia what they did when she had to attend the training in question.

 

“Oh, you know, basic stuff like establishing your authority, which - can I just say - _I_ _nailed,_ subverting your enemies expectations, and using initiative to pitch and elevate ideas through the chain of command.”

 

It sounded boring as hell.

 

…

 

Adora would have loved it.

 

Catra remembered that Adora nearly had her own time slot booked for orientation before everything went to shit. Maybe if she had attended it she would’ve rediscovered her love of rules and Horde war strategy and stayed?

 

Catra doubted it, shooed away the name, and went to bed early that night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Catra finds herself stuck in place, forced to regard the door in front of her.

 

There’s little to be said about it, save for the fact that it’s not automatic, like most of the Horde base’s entrances and exits. She’d have to turn an old-fashioned brass handle to get in, and since there’s nothing else around her, it’s the only thing worth doing.

 

Above the door a sign reads:

 

_101: Force Captain Orientation_

 

Catra is suddenly overcome with the sensation of being hopelessly late, though she can’t say what time it is. She looks for an excuse of any sort to get out of class, but the infinite white space surrounding tells her today is the day to get qualified to do the job she’d been playing at for so long. With a huff, she opens the door and steps through.

 

The room she finds herself in is small and strangely welcoming. The atmosphere is light, almost absent entirely, and it feels as though Catra has found the edge of the universe.

 

A table of refreshments and several chairs are laid out, facing a slightly elevated platform, where a podium resides. The wall behind displays a projection of the words: _‘don’t do what Donny Don’t does,’_ which makes Catra squint.

 

On one of the chairs sits Scorpia, who hears Catra and waves her in with a big smile.

 

On another, there is Shadow Weaver, who rises to take her place at the podium.

 

“How nice of you to finally join us, Force Captain. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”

 

Shadow Weaver speaks with - humor? - in her voice. It isn’t hatred, at the very least, which spooks Catra almost as much as it puts her at ease. Even still, she’s getting sick of Shadow Weaver haunting her all the time.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Catra groans and quickly covers her mouth when her thoughts spill out.

 

“Believe me, Catra, I do not wish to be here, either, but you will enjoy this.”

 

The oppressive shadows that usually carry her are gone, and her eyes form bigger, kinder shapes that Catra has never encountered in her long and painful history with the woman. A neutral white, they hint at a smile laying behind her mask.

 

“That is a promise,” Shadow Weaver finishes. “Please, sit.”

 

She beckons her to the seats and Scorpia waves her huge claws around frantically like she’s directing air-traffic to the chair next to her. Catra looks at her with a small smile.

 

There’s a lot she wishes she could say to Scorpia - her thanks and apologies and all the other careful doses of necessary communication important for a healthy relationship - but the wall is still slightly too thick. If Shadow Weaver wasn’t here, Catra thinks, maybe she’d try to get through. Scorpia pats the seat softer when the trouble on Catra’s face becomes clear.

 

Catra makes an effort to shrug nonchalantly and strolls over, laying her head back on Scorpia’s massive arm as Shadow Weaver shuffles through her notes on the podium. The chitinous arm is not the comfiest, but it seems to be growing warmer the closer Catra gets.

 

A laser pointer suddenly triggers something in Catra’s brain and takes up all of her attention; everyone is directed by it to the puzzling words on the screen. Shadow Weaver speaks up.

 

“Before I start, Catra, I… did teach you to read, did I not?”

 

Catra, legitimately offended, scoffs, “Y’know, funnily enough, everything but.”

 

“At bedtime, I did not read to you the story of the Weeping Princess?”

 

Catra shakes her head, and Shadow Weaver, after a moment, looks down at her feet.

 

She doesn’t speak, and only when Catra meets Scorpia’s confused stare does Shadow Weaver clear her throat and resume the presentation.

 

“I would like to… if we ever get the chance. It’s very much a cliché, but well-crafted, and an enjoyable emotional journey that I believe you’d benefit from hearing.”

 

“Okay?” Catra is _thoroughly confused_.

 

Is she actually trying to be nice, or just waiting to pull the rug out from under her in classic Shadow Weaver style? There’s something _off_ about this whole deal, Catra is sure, but... it doesn’t seem negative. It’s just weird. Messy, honest and overdue.

 

The air is plentiful and they take it in deeply and with ease. No-one hurries to speak. Catra can’t deny the sincerity sweeping the space between them, feeling lighter herself in this special room. Yet for as many of the feelings that rise up in her and beg to claw their way free, she says nothing.

 

“I digress,” Shadow Weaver says.

 

She switches the slide to two columns packed with words in a tiny font and sighs heavily as if she’s done this a million times over.

 

“These are the do’s and don’ts of being a Force Captain, and before you start - because I see that tail of yours twitching - _no_ , I will not make you read them all. I have prepared visual aids for the most important lessons, and I prefer a hands-on approach to teaching.”

 

Catra caught a couple of the do's: ‘know your enemy as you know yourself’ and ‘seize opportunities and watch them multiply.’ Fair, but Catra thinks they sound too much like the strange motivational cat posters Scorpia had plastered on her walls.

 

There are _far_ more in the other column: ‘don’t fall to the lies of sparkly princess propaganda,’ ‘don’t stifle a cadet’s creativity,’ ‘don’t maim civilians more than is necessary,’ and ‘don’t eat snow of any colour but white,’ which Catra would’ve appreciated knowing before her most recent trip to the Northern Reach.

 

The slide changes and a paused video of Kyle in the middle of a horrifying scream came on-screen.

 

“This is Donny Don’t,” Shadow Weaver says.

 

“You mean Kyle?” Catra asks.

 

“Who?”

 

Catra waves her hand dismissively and lets her continue.

 

“Don’t do what Donny Don’t does,” She recites, bored, and plays the video.

 

They watch as Kyle dances around like a headless chicken as a barrage of lasers spark fire at his feet. He’s sweating and singed and mortified. Steel claws start to surround him in a tight, inescapable kill-box. The camera pans back as indiscernible laughter sounds out and Kyle’s assailant is revealed. Entrapta’s princess-class robot: Emily’s Kid Sister, or EKS.

 

Scorpia offers Catra a bowl of popcorn containing a record low number of unpopped kernels. Catra thinks this place isn’t so bad and absentmindedly grabs a handful while her eyes and ears remain locked on the struggle of Kyle fighting for what he surely believes is his life.

 

He yells and raises his baton to block a metallic limb from crushing him completely. EKS’ arm severs the instrument, stops short of splitting Kyle in two, and bonks him on the head, leaving behind a nasty bump. The camera shakes and the camerawoman snorts - Catra recognizes it as Lonnie - as the limbs retreat back into EKS and the video comes to an end.

 

“You guys shot lasers at Kyle without me?” Catra asks.

 

“Pay attention,” Shadow Weaver says, but nods. “What did Donny Don’t do wrong?”

 

“Where do I start?” Catra asks, tapping her fingers together. “Let’s see: he lost his cool immediately, giving away how hopeless the situation was; he failed to notice the trap until he was already in it, and he misjudged his opponent’s strength and tried to block instead of evading a killing blow. How’s that?”

 

“Magnificently put,” Shadow Weaver says, which makes Catra glow warmly inside as Scorpia cheers her name to an enthusiastic roll of her claw. “I would have also accepted that he chose not to sacrifice himself in meeting his attacker with a counter of his own, but I suppose there is merit to the idea of living to fight another day.”

 

Catra gives a toothy, dramatic yawn that stretches her arms out nicely and ends in a high-pitched noise. Her hands come up behind her head and she leans back on them, satisfied.

 

“You believe you are beyond this, Catra?”

 

“Pff, no duh. I know how to fight.”

 

“Good, then we can move on to more _advanced_ lessons.”

 

There’s a quiver of excitement in Shadow Weaver’s voice, barely contained. It’s the kind that usually accompanies a diabolical plan or a murderous fantasy, but right now, such things didn’t seem possible. Catra, _almost_ , trusts her.

 

The next video, beginning with a screen showing a variety of party snacks, from pretzels to tiny cakes and everything in-between, waits for Shadow Weaver’s command.

 

“In this scenario, your squadmate Rogelio volunteered to play the role of a princess. Donny Don’t - an undercover Horde operative deep behind enemy lines - is tasked with attaining critical intel from him, non-violently and without raising suspicion. A single act of skillful manipulation can be worth a thousand bloody bodies wasted on the field.”

 

“Remember,” Shadow Weaver sighs, before reluctantly continuing. “Don’t do what Donny Don’t does.” She plays the video and rests an elbow on the podium to watch in a frighteningly casual manner.

 

The camera takes in all the delicious food on display. A sharp _“LONNIE”_ from a background Shadow Weaver and the view snaps to Rogelio and Kyle, who are immaculately dressed for the occasion.

 

The big green lizard man wore a charming lilac dress that tore very slightly where his bulky arms poked out. Strapped to his waist by a belt adorned with floral patterns was a blank computer disc - the so-called intel. Kyle wore a tuxedo, ill-fitting but high-quality, dark colors complimenting his sandy blonde hair.

 

Catra frowns as she recognizes the bow-tie he wears is hers. This time, however, it’s tied. She makes a mental note to ask him how to tie it and to scare him into secrecy later.

 

Rogelio grins at Kyle, holding his hands together and twirling around to watch the dress flow. Kyle stammers out something the camera doesn’t pick up and it zooms in to capture the red of his cheeks as well as an unfortunate pimple located on his nose. Rogelio holds his sharp fingers to his mouth and silently giggles in a convincing display of daintiness.

 

“UH,” Kyle yelps. “You’re… really, really pretty!”

 

Were he not cold-blooded, Rogelio would be blushing. His smile gives a flash of fangs and he looks away from Kyle, who’s never seemed so confident before, not that his bar was particularly high. The boy looks up to the lizard’s sharp, yellow eyes with joy shining in his own as music from a familiar sentry bot starts playing.

 

Emily steps in and plays a slow, classical Horde-regulation piece that nevertheless gets them moving. Rogelio takes Kyle’s hands and they do a simple one-two step back and forth. It’s full of lingering looks and tender touches. Catra thinks it's cute, especially when Kyle gets on his tip-toes as Rogelio tries to lean into a kiss.

 

“THE MISSION!” Shadow Weaver’s voice blares through the screen and it makes the two dancers jump. They dart their heads away from each other and stand straight as soldiers.

 

“Oh - yeah yeah, um,” Kyle stammers, dark patches of sweat rapidly forming on his white undershirt. He looks at the disc bouncing by Rogelio’s hip and goes red. “Is - is that mission-critical intel in your pocket or... are you just happy to see me?”

 

The present Shadow Weaver groans simultaneously with herself in the audio. Rogelio covers his face with an arm as a soft chuckle shakes his shoulders in amusement, and Kyle finds it too contagious to be scared of the shadows beginning to swarm him from behind. Lonnie gives a reckless cheer and the video goes black and cuts out.

 

Shadow Weaver pulls up her mask enough to rub her eyes and asks:

 

“What did Donny Don’t do wrong?”

 

“He should’ve given him a pet name!” Scorpia calls out. “Something sweet and familiar!”

 

“I commend the enthusiasm, Force Captain Scorpia, but the question was more directed towards Catra. Why are you here, again?”

 

“I wanted to watch the video the squad made! And… I was told you’d need volunteers?” Scorpia says, somewhat downtrodden.

 

“I have that covered, but you are more than welcome to stay. The popcorn is appreciated, Scorpia. I have done these things for years and not once has anyone brought snacks. As much as the cadets may like to believe, I do not subsist on hatred and fear alone.”

 

Scorpia immediately offers her the bowl. Tendrils of inky black reach out and yank it into a shadowy maw that opens up in Shadow Weaver’s stomach. Catra cringes as the bowl is placed back in Scorpia’s claws, still half-full, but dripping darkness.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s quite sanitary. Catra?” The sorceress asks, reiterating the initial question. “What would you have done?”

 

Catra remembers the dress, the dancing, the pick-up lines, and the plan. It’s all familiar to her, even if the faces are different. After a minute lost in thought, which Shadow Weaver patiently allows, the feline speaks, distantly, like she’s dreaming.

 

“I’d have held onto her shoulders. Big and nice. Direct the pretty compliment towards something specific, like… the dress, or her eyes. Wouldn’t look anywhere else, not the disc, not anyone else. Make her feel like she’s the whole world. Probably call her a princess, but not to be mean. We’re at a prom for princesses, y’know? And somehow, even though I was bullshitting her, at that moment she was my mine! My princess!”

 

Catra feels warm trickles streak down her face, but she’s no longer afraid to cry, even in front of Shadow Weaver, who only watches. Scorpia hooks an arm around Catra and holds her close as she lets it out, bolder and freer than she’d ever felt before, her filter evaporating. She gives a shaky laugh and continues.

 

“And she knew. Of course she fuckin’ knew, the whole time, but she still gave me that dance. Dummy. Beautiful, strong, stupid Adora. Almost had me. Could’ve, but I throw her off. I keep doing that, I keep using _us_ to push her back and it - it hurts so much every fucking time but I keep doing it because…?” Catra looks to Scorpia for answers, who has none. “I _hate_ myself. I _hate_ her. I just,  _hate_. She’s better off with Glimmer. She’s nice. Adora deserves nice. Dumb as rocks, too. Perfect match.”

 

The rest of her words are stifled and die in Scorpia’s arms. Catra’s sobs are muffled, and she is forever grateful to Scorpia for sticking by her. The giant woman gives her little soft shushes and strokes her mane until she calms down, and then the feline looks up at her like she’s a deity: holy, merciful, and infinitely compassionate.

 

“Were we watching the same video?” Scorpia whispers to her with kind but confused eyes.

 

It takes Catra a second to realize how much she loves dumbasses, and another to laugh. She hugs Scorpia’s neck, hoping to keep her as close as this forever, but pulls away to face her with all seriousness.

 

“Thank you,” Catra says, feeling the words inadequate for as much as she means by them.

 

Scorpia’s eyes flicker, watery, and she replies: “Of course, my Wildcat.”

 

Catra holds a hand to block Shadow Weaver’s view and shoots a kiss at Scorpia’s cheek before turning immensely red and pretending like nothing happened. Scorpia makes a noise - high, giddy, overjoyed - before her tail goes limp, she shares Catra’s color, and starts rocking from side-to-side on her chair.

 

“Oh, and Kyle’s dancing fucking sucked,” Catra finishes, rubbing her eyes dry and staring at Shadow Weaver, feeling new.

 

“Would you like to demonstrate what you’d do, Force Captain?” Shadow Weaver asks.

 

“What, you want me to dance with you? Flattered, but I’m good.”

 

“It’s very easy to hypothesize, but in the heat of the moment, things change.”

 

With that, the handle on the door behind them presses down. Everyone turns to face it. It creaks as it opens, and it takes ages. Looking up to make sure she got the right room, Adora steps through.

 

Catra mouths her name, thunderstruck, and Adora gives her a small wave.

 

She wears the same red dress as she did at princess prom, looking a little more experienced, a little less anxious, but ultimately much the same. Her arms are exposed and as thrilling as ever. She’s softly touched by a blush as she looks at Catra and holds her arms together, waiting for someone to say something.

 

“What, do I need to introduce you?” Shadow Weaver says, breaking the tension.

 

A thousand wires in Catra’s brain short-circuit as she whirls around to face the witch.

 

“WHAT’S GOING ON? WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!”

 

A hand on her shoulder, gentle but firm, and Catra’s furious breaths slow. Adora takes her hand and encourages her to stand. Scorpia watches them in awe, claws covering her mouth. Shadow Weaver gets lost in contemplative thought.

 

A dying instinct, all but exhumed from Catra’s mind, still screams _push, slap, sweep her leg, scream, and claw_. She shakes her head, both as a response and in disbelief at the delicate looking flower breathing her air.

 

“It’s just me, Catra. No memory stuff, no tricks… Hi?”

 

"Hey?"

 

Adora cocks her head slightly and takes Catra’s cheek in hand. Catra gasps at the warm, genuine touch and tears up, holding it tighter to her face and closing her eyes. Before they can cause her grief, she crushes the questions of how and why into the finest powder: she doesn’t care. She kisses Adora's fingertips and guides her hand over to caress a grey tuft of hair.

 

“I missed you,” Adora says, gingerly taking off Catra's pointy headpiece, letting her hair run wild and running fingers through long-untouched areas.

 

Catra squeezes her in a hug so tight Adora starts to worry she’s being captured. Catra buries her nose into her neck, says it back, and sees Shadow Weaver watching them embrace. Catra keeps holding Adora, who has relaxed into her like she’s life itself until the sorceress speaks up, and that same classical music seeps into the room.

 

“Power… isn’t everything, Force Captain,” Shadow Weaver says, beginning to fade away from the feet up.

 

She takes off her mask and puts it on the podium, looking at the couple with her sagging eyes and grey, timeworn face. Her voice is no longer magnified by magic, and her lips are curled an inch in a sad smile.

 

“It is attractive, in the grip of jealousy, but it will kill you. Everything you once were, and everything you could still be. I am sorry for how much I have taken from you, and what I will still take, before this truth ends me, too. You are still young. Don’t do what - ” Shadow Weaver laughs cuts her short, and disappears with the last echo of her voice, “You know the rest.”

 

Everything around them begins to vanish, from the chairs to the slideshow and the very walls themselves, leaving behind only endless white. They fall into nothingness, a confusing gravity that pulls at the edges of Catra’s mind. She reaches out to touch Scorpia, who is also dissolving into the air. Catra’s hand goes right through, finding her immaterial - a beautiful, eternally loyal ghost.

 

“ _Pet names!_ ” She reminds, and winks out of existence.

 

It’s terrifying how the world falls away, centering on them and their last patch of shared ground, the white void ceaselessly enclosing. Catra can hear Adora breathing, however, and the slow string music, and knows this must be heaven. She faces the blonde girl, who doesn’t look the least bit scared. They hold each others’ hands up and Adora smiles.

 

“Wanna dance?” She asks.

 

“Of course.”

 

And they do, carefully tip-toeing around the holes to oblivion in the floor as they spin and sway. Catra points out gaps and they catch each other as they speed up the tempo; the music obeys their rhythm, quickening, and Adora lifts Catra, who finds the view sublime, even in the throes of a dimensional apocalypse.

 

When Adora turns on the spot and puts her back down, Catra is laughing and all up in her face.

 

“I love you, princess. Please stay. _Please_.”

 

“Love you, kitten. But…”

 

Adora indicates to the universe around them, or the lack thereof. Adora’s body starts turning ethereal, and Catra cries _no, no_ until she notices she, too, is fading. Wherever they ended up, at least they’d go there together, Catra thinks, but it’s still so daunting, the encroaching immensity of the unknown. Her hand shakes and Adora grips it hard. 

 

“Keep looking at me,” Adora says, and Catra can’t imagine anything sweeter. Blue eyes, her neat ponytail, shoulders just made for wrapping arms around. Catra kisses her neck, her jaw, and pulls away to face her. Adora awkwardly wiggles her eyebrows and Catra hates how much she loves it.

 

They have no more room to dance, limited now to standing on one tile, but they could no longer see or feel their legs. Adora licks her lips and it’s all the invitation Catra needs. She meets Adora’s mouth and gives thanks to all the gods she knows that she can still feel her warmth, her tender wet touch.

 

Catra tugs on Adora’s bottom lip, grinning, using her fangs to take as much as she can get. She’s ferocious, breathless; tasting her till her last gasp when Adora withdraws, watches her breathe, cradles her head and studies her, finding her perfect, before lovingly returning her affections to Catra’s upper lip, suckling and slipping in her tongue, drawing a moan that shakes Catra’s frame in a divine unraveling of her very being.

 

Catra falls into her, and they fall away from everything.

 

* * *

 

When Catra wakes up, she scrambles to look under her bed. She curses as she remembers throwing away her art supplies after one of her more violent outbursts. She goes to get Scorpia’s instead, holding on to every memory of every minute of the dream that she can.

 

She can feel it going away, and plays back all the do’s and don’ts in her head, the love between Kyle and Rogelio, her love for Scorpia, her love for Adora, but it’s not enough to cling to in the sobering light of day. Officers keep asking her to do shit and she screams at them, _SHUT THE FUCK UP_ , as more is lost.

 

Catra longs to be back there, and writes Shadow Weaver’s last lesson, distorted and incomplete, in a journal. She gets halfway through a drawing of Adora before she gives up, crying; with the delightful haze of sleep gone and her own bitterness returning, she gets mad, but she doesn’t rip up the picture.

 

She’ll keep the journal forever, and fill it with dreams, so as to one day make them real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 This was a big fun one, if you got thoughts, pls gimme 'em! I'm only how many months late to the force captain orientation meme? It's still funny, right? Also hope you liked the repkyle cameo! Got another hankering for my tender gay boys!!


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